


I Call Him Stripes

by Priince



Series: the lonely red lion and his friends [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A short thing to dip my toes back into writing., Bonding, Fluff, Friendships are important yall, Gen, Nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14620968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Priince/pseuds/Priince
Summary: Varric and Isarah have a nice bonding moment. Also, apparently Tigers are called Red Lions and they live in the Frostback Mountains.





	I Call Him Stripes

On the rare uncloudy afternoons in Haven, Ranga enjoyed sunbathing by the useless fishing dock at the edge of the frozen pond. People stayed clear of her general resting area where she had claimed her territory, except for one curious dwarf. These days were greatest for sketching portraits of the unusual but magnificent creature.

Red lions are creatures deeply admired by the dwarves of Orzammar for their pelts. However Varric had only the chance to see a flash of those stripes once or twice during his travels, possibly due to the fact that hunting Red Lions were extremely difficult. The lions were infamous for their fearsome speed and devious cunning. 

But Varric had never seen a live and breathing lion like Ranga in the flesh. The experience of inhabiting the same area as her without having his face chewed off was worth any amount of gold the merchant’s guild could trade him for. 

Varric wrote at the edges of his journal, immortalizing the red lion’s image into his mind for later book referencing, “She laid on her side, eyes closed. Though seemingly relaxed, her ears were perked, aware of any sound that came near her. However, she knew her presence was acknowledge, and was confident that no one would even dare make a step into her little isolated island…” Varric looked up to a familiar figure striding purposely over to the feline. “Except one,” Varric added. 

Similar moving stripes slithered through the crowd of people, out from the main hall gates. Long black hair flowed freely, embroidered by braids that patterned the Herald’s crown. People turned their heads in an attempt to discreetly peer and observe the equally odd elf. 

Odd. That’s a term Varric didn’t use lightly. Though he has used it as a frequent description as of late- those occasions were not uncalled for by his standards. And like many “odd” people Varric had encountered in his life, Isarah Lavellan would definitely be amongst the top of them. At the moment, the list included Tiny (The Iron Bull), Chuckles (Solas), and Buttercup (Sera). Amongst many others. All individuals had no trouble at all soaring the ranks of Varric’s bucket of oddities. But Isarah really took the cake this time. 

His mannerisms were nothing short of confident. How he carried that quiet and cool demeanor of his every day was a miracle in itself. Being the face of such an ancient but growing organization like the Inquisition should be a nerve racking experience alone. Adding that there's a hole in the sky that everyone expects you to fix is the plus that Varric would expect anybody to recoil from. But there Isarah stood, winded up like a spring and ready to pounce into action. He admired the elf to no end, and was heavily inspired to write a future novel in the (hopefully existent and) possible future. Because what Isarah does for the Inquisition, for the entirety of Thedas, takes a pair of steel balls. That’s something worth slapping into a book. 

Granted it had taken Varric a while to have Isarah warmed up to him and the rest of the circle- but who _wouldn’t_ be a little ( a lot ) cranky with the sky being torn apart and demons popping up all over the place? 

Then, for some reason, a strange badgering feeling made itself known in his mind when he looked at the Herald. Was he forgetting something else? Amongst the great pile of things he knows he shouldn't be forgetting? There was something missing.

The dwarf snapped his journal closed after sheathing a crudely sharpened pencil into its place within the book. Perhaps he will settle this persistent little voice in his head when he talked to his friend. Thus in one move, Varric stored the journal into a pocket and lifted himself off a rock that was a little farther from where the maneless lion rested.

The Herald had just laid himself down unto the sunbathing cat as Varric was carefully approaching. Gazing soldiers and workers stole a quick, frightened breath, fearing the worse for their lofty hero. But Varric knew better. 

Ranga groaned loudly before chuffing lazily at Isarah. She rolled over to her back as Usa buried a hand into the fur of her belly, indulging in a belly rub. 

Everyone in the nearby area silently regained their breath. 

The red lion relaxed, and closed her eyes, even while Varric drew closer. The same knowing smile lingering on his lips as he pulled up to a flat stone and sat himself down once more. 

“What’d those three bother you about this time, your holiness?” Varric rested an elbow on his knee and leaned forward a bit. The elf was quiet, as Varric usually found him, staring at the Ranga seemingly in a trance before flickering his haunting gray and green eyes towards Varric. The dwarf resisted a nervous flinch, despite how harmless Isarah was. Usually.

“It seems that I am wanted in the land just south east of here,” Isarah said slowly and thoughtfully. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. Varric nodded when Isarah paused.

“I heard of talk for the need of better mounts. Gonna round up some horses maybe?” Varric suggested. After a moment of admiring Isarah’s vallaslin, Varric felt like he had a strange revelation- but it had just slipped from his grasps before he caught it. The dwarf furrowed his eyebrows. Isarah didn’t seem to notice the dwarf hard in thought, and glanced over towards Haven. 

“There is a horsemaster. His name is master Dennet. I may be forced to make contact with him pretty soon." Lavellan said in that serious tone he always used since the dwarf met him. It always seemed like he had something on his mind. Varric wouldn't mind at all if he could help unpack those things for Isarah. But with how everything currently is, time for personal devices was a luxury not many of them could afford.

“Is that so,” Varric said somewhat distracted. “Guess we’re gonna have to stop by! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind losing a couple horses or two,” he jokes. The dwarf looked at Ranga, humor in his voice, “Gotta feed this little lady somehow, right?” That almost brought a smile to Isarah’s lips, but Varric hadn’t won just yet. 

“Food for Ranga is a must as well. There is not much game out here than a few slim hares,” Isarah pointed out with regret. There was little else around Haven. But Varric remembered the big rams that frequented those hills.

“Don’t worry your holiness, there’s a bunch of rams out there that you can hunt for her..." somewhere in the middle, Varric’s mind finally clicked the pieces together. Allowing the knot in his eyebrows to loosen as he took a fist to the palm of his hand. The once fleeting had just thought come back for him.

He didn’t have a name for his new friend! How can he be so blind? Of course he's already handed ones out to the others in their circle, but not yet Isarah. Must be because Varric had so much on this mind lately, with greenholes and broken skies and broken skies being full of green murderous holes.

It didn’t take long to come up with one, though, because he remembered the stripes. The way Ranga and Isarah moved in unison, the same patterns they had on their bodies, the way those inked lines seemed to slither protectively around the elf’s arms like snakes, coiled up and ready for action just like their host was. They were like the manifestation of the winds themselves, becoming nothing but blurred lines in the air when the elf moved around as ferocious and hideously fast as a red lion. 

“Stripes,” Varric smiled. Isarah instantly looked at Varric without hesitation, not realizing that Varric had just given him a sort of nick name. 

“S...Stripes?” Isarah repeated hesitantly, taken aback. The elf seemed more than confused. 

“Yeah...Stripes. I’ll call you Stripes from now on.” Varric nodded in satisfaction. Now that nagging feeling was gone, he could rest easy. If there was any protest from Isarah, he didn’t voice any. The elf even seemed to be content with that name. To Isarah, it wasn’t an unpleasant nickname. Not at all, in fact. He had heard much worse before, but Stripes was a little… Nostalgic? Isarah looked over to Ranga, his hand had just started rubbing her neck. She was very pleased.

“I like it,” Isarah said plain and simple. He couldn’t hide the small smile stealthily overcoming his face. Varric grinned. 

Victory was finally his.

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to find a poor excuse to give my Inquisitor a tiger for a hot second before discovering that tigers actually fucking exist in DA. That's fucking wicked dude.


End file.
